The kids, dropped off at day care and a number of hours to burn before the end of the year, I took a Friday off with a camera and headed to Western Massachusetts during a pandemic in the Fall.
by Donald Hall
Every year the mountains get paler and more distant — trees less green, rock piles disappearing — as emulsion from a billion Kodaks sucks color out. In fifteen years Monadnock and Kearsage, the Green Mountains and the White, will turn invisible, all tint removed atom by atom to albums in Medford and Greenwich, while over the valleys the still intractable granite rears with unseeable peaks fatal to airplanes.
Donald Hall, “Scenic View” from The Selected Poems of Donald Hall. Copyright © 2015 by Donald Hall.
